Cycle
by piratestripes
Summary: Follow Evey throughout a day in prison. Some spoilers.. if you figure it out.


Summary/Disclaimer/Spoilers 

Some mild spoilers, yo.

I wrote this fic based on Evey's final scene in her cell. V as a guard tries to get her to give in one final time. What if it wasn't the only time he tried to get her to give in? What if he couldn't stand it?

And if you didn't know by now, I don't own V For Vendetta. Surprised?

Cycle 

By pirateystripes

I'm awakened in the middle of another nightmare by the familiar sound of my heavy cell door opening. I don't even lift my head to see who it is; it's always one of a dozen faceless guards.

"Get up, you little bitch!"

I never acknowledge them anymore. What's the point? I know why they come. I know what they want, though they never get it. They'll never get it.

After the first threat the guards never say anything to me; they just roughly grab onto this disgusting rag that serves as my clothing and bodily drag me from the room. I'm almost glad I don't have hair anymore as the guard pulls me so hard some of the fabric rips in his gloved fists.

I can feel the concrete floor peel away the scabs that have just started to form on my knees. I'm so used to the pain that I hardly feel it anymore.

The guard hoists me to my feet once we're down the long, cold hallway. I look back across the distance we've traveled and see the twin trails of blood set against the white, sterile floor. I'm all at once reminded of the trail of breadcrumbs that Hansel and Gretel left behind to find their way home again.

This isn't home, but I always seem to find my way back.

He searches a large ring of jangling keys, cursing when he can't find the one to unlock the large metal door that's before me.

"It's the little gold one," I supply. I've been in this room before. I try to look calm on the outside, but on the inside, I'm trembling with fear.

The guard hisses angrily and shoves me into the tiled wall that I'm standing in front of. "We'll see how cheeky you are after a few hours in here! Then maybe you'll learn to speak only when you're ready to give us what we want!" He finally finds the key he's looking for, a tiny gold one, and jams it forcefully into the lock. With a click, the door swings open.

In my head I can still hear the sickening crack of my body hitting the wall; I can feel myself sliding limply to the floor. Before I even realize it I'm inside the room and the guard is leaving. The door slams shut, and I'm left alone in the darkness. A sob escapes my lips, and I fight to control my erratic breathing.

The room is four bare cement walls and claustrophobic to me. At the center of the room there's a long wooden table with two chairs facing each other from opposite sides. On top of the table there's a black lamp, an ashtray, a silver lighter, and a pack of Pall Mall cigs.

I crawl into one of the corners, wrap my arms around myself, and rock slowly on my bare heels. There I wait for my next tormentor to arrive.

It seems hours later when the door finally opens. A neatly dressed man in a dark blue suit enters the room and immediately turns the table lamp on. "Come along, have a seat Miss Hammond," he says almost politely, "We have much to discuss today." A chair scrapes sharply across the floor and I hear him sit down.

I squint against the invading light and find I have no choice but to obey the man. I slowly get to my feet, my knees throbbing from the rush of blood that flows into them, and limp toward the empty chair. My chair.

As soon as I take a seat the man reaches for the cigarettes. He also tilts the lamp so it brightly shines in my eyes. I can never see his face. I never see any faces anymore.

"So Miss Hammond, I heard you mouthed off to one of the guards again. You know what that means, don't you?" He thumped the pack against the palm of his hand twice before answering his own question. "Yes, it means no food today. Or tomorrow."

My stomach rumbles at his words, betraying me.

"Now, shall we get down to business here?" he asks productively, as if I'm a customer at a bank interested in taking out a loan. "Where is Codename V?"

"I don't know."

"You do know, Miss Hammond." The man unwraps his Pall Malls, throwing the crinkly plastic to the floor. He deftly opens the small box and pulls out one of the long white sticks, bringing it to his lips.

"I've told you a hundred times already. I don't know where the fuck he is!" I shout, bringing my fists down hard on the table's smooth surface.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk... You have quite a temper, young lady." He rolls his thumb over the top of the lighter several times before the sparks ignite into flame. Leaning forward into the lighter, the tip of the cigarette between his lips catches fire. I briefly see his cobalt eyes before he's enveloped back into the shadows. "I don't understand why you still insist on protecting him. You do realize, he hasn't made a single attempt to rescue you. He doesn't care about you."

I feel my heart begin to sink deeper in my aching chest. _V, where are you?_

"Now, once again. Tell me the exact whereabouts of Codename V." The man takes a long drag.

I cough violently as he blows his foul smoke in my face. The word almost dies in my dry throat, but it creeps up to my trembling lips somehow, "_Never_."

Suddenly the man lunges forward and pins one of my hands to the tabletop. "Tell me where he is you filthy little whore!"

I weakly struggle to get out of his vice-like grasp, but it's no use. He's stronger than me. They all are.

"No? Fine, have it your way." With that he extinguishes his lit cigarette right above my pale knuckles.

My mouth contorts in a silent scream as he grinds it further into my blistering skin. As quickly as it starts, he releases me as if _I_ was the one who burned _him_. I cradle my injured hand protectively against my chest.

After the twentieth question, the twentieth cigarette, the twentieth burn, I have nothing left to feel. It always ends the same. He doesn't get his answers, and I don't give any away.

The man takes a final drag of his cigarette and then flicks it at me disdainfully. Once at the door, he orders the guard to return me to my cell. The guard doesn't come for me right away. I'm left once again in the darkness of the now smoke-filled room, watching the orange embers of his cigarette slowly die away.

A different guard comes for me almost an hour later, but this one isn't like the rest. This one lifts me gently to my feet and supports me against him on the walk back down the hallway. My eyes still sting from the lamp's light, but I can see that my bloody trail has been mopped away.

My cell door is opened by yet another key, but I don't really notice what it looks like now. To my surprise I'm not thrown, dragged, or pushed through the door this time. The guard lowers my frail body to the cool floor, and begins to walk away. He stops just before he reaches the door.

"Why don't you just tell them what they want to know? The torture will just get worse. They'll kill you in the end."

"I know that." My voice sounds raspy and foreign to me.

"But you still won't give in."

"No."

The guard stands in the doorway for a moment longer, his shadow engulfing my quivering form. He seems to want to say more, but instead he steps out of the room and pushes the door closed behind him. I hear the key turn in the lock, a loud click, and his steps fading away into the distance.

I pass out from exhaustion.

Hours later I regain consciousness. I feel the pain hit me all too soon, despite the numbness that perforates my limbs from the cold of my darkened prison. My hands are swollen and throbbing, the blisters leaking fluid; my knees are raw and sticky with blood.

My gaze wanders around the room and rests at the base of the door, where my plate of unidentifiable food is usually waiting for me, half-spilled. The floor there is bare; the man true to his word. I whimper pathetically, pulling my body back into a comforting fetal position.

It's then that I hear the screams. Gut-wrenching. Primal. A man in agony.

I've been here long enough to learn the pattern of things. Usually after they interrogate and torture me, I'm left alone for a few days. Sometimes for an entire week. It's then that I hear him. I feel him. I've never seen another prisoner here, but I'm guessing that this is the solitary confinement section of wherever it is I am. And the guards always do their rounds in the same order. First me, then him.

Another howl shatters the silence, this time sounding more animal than human. I curl tighter into a ball, covering my ears with my burning hands, trying to block out his anguished cries. I try to concentrate on something else. Anything else.

My mind drifts back to the same person every time. V. I wonder where he is, and why he hasn't tried to find me. Maybe he can't find me. Maybe he won't risk it, won't risk ruining his plans on me. But I don't believe that. Not for a minute. He'll come for me. I have to have some hope, some faith. But it's so hard. So, so hard.

I cry until I can't cry anymore.

After a few hours, even he can't scream anymore. And then the whole cycle begins again.

End

Please R&R!


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